


Many And Beautiful Things

by blanchtt



Category: Carol (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-04 22:10:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12780612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanchtt/pseuds/blanchtt
Summary: Therese had looked different, of course. Elegant, self-possessed. Changed, but only in appearance, because her Therese is still there, the one she’d discovered driving through country roads, eating in greasy-spoon diners, staying in hotels and motels.





	Many And Beautiful Things

**Author's Note:**

> Reposting a few deleted fics.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_you will remember_

_for we in our youth_

_did these things_

_yes many and beautiful things_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_1953_

 

It’s only several days later – when the near-miss at the Ritz, the crushing loss as she had gone about her night feigning that her life hadn’t just fallen completely apart, and Therese’s miraculous appearance hours later at the Oak Room has had time to sink in; after Therese has over lunch the next week quietly but self-assuredly asked, intentions laid out bare, if the offer of her apartment was still available; and after they’ve spent all of two hours shuffling Therese’s boxed things from her apartment to theirs – that Carol realizes she’s cut her hair.

 

She watches as Therese reaches up distractedly, brushes her short hair behind her ears.

 

The book in her lap means Therese stares down sharply to read, and though it takes a few moments and movements from her, the turn of a page and the tilt of her head as she reads, Carol watches as locks come untucked, fall against her cheek, covering her face.

 

Therese had looked different, of course. Elegant, self-possessed. Changed, but only in appearance, because _her Therese_ is still there, the one she’d discovered driving through country roads, eating in greasy-spoon diners, staying in hotels and motels. Underneath the ladylike clothing is still the girl that assured her that she looked beautiful no matter how windblown she was. She is still the Therese that had asked how she could help, that had asked her if she was frightened, and that when she had debased herself, had said sharply and immediately _no_ , and had her believe the conviction behind it, the denial that things – _things, she hears Harge’s lawyer speaking, like her daughter_ – only truly thrived once she was removed from the picture. 

 

Therese reads on for a minute before she reaches up again, repeats the motion as if only now realizing hair obscures her vision, and Carol smiles at the normalcy of it, almost overwhelmed with the knowledge that Therese is here, with her, the two of them in bed, Therese reading and her pretending to read, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. An apartment is not the same as a motel, and an admirer is not the same as a lover, for which she is grateful.

 

Carol puts aside her own book, the pretense useless. She could watch Therese all night and still find something to marvel at, but with the freedom to do as they please she can’t be content to simply watch. She leans toward Therese, presses a kiss to her cheek goodnight, and hears Therese’s breathing hitch, yanked from her reading.

 

For good measure Carol tilts her head, presses another kiss lower, to her jaw, and lingers, resisting the urge to bite. _Work_ , she reminds herself. _Don’t_. Therese’s grip on her book goes slack – in the silence Carol hears the slip of paper on paper, and can almost see the page in the book set loose from under her thumb tilt back up and to the left, because Therese can never bring herself to crack the book’s binding.

 

“Carol.”

 

She loves Therese, and she loves how easily things build between them – whether it is as quick and sudden as a summer storm or with a slow steadiness that keeps them up half the night. Therese tilts her head, inviting, and she moves to nip her earlobe.

 

And gets a mouthful of hair, too, as a lock comes untucked, the ends falling her face.  Carol almost splutters at the sensation but only calmly sits back, trying not to laugh. Therese has no qualms about it, the hand over her mouth not doing much to cover her smile.

 

How smooth. Therese had looked different, yes, and the specifics of it continue to catch her by surprise. “I’m not used to it being this length,” Carol says defensively, but the posturing is useless. How many nights had they spent together, reaching out to keep hair out of their eyes as they kissed or made love or simply stared at each other?

 

Therese watches her with a smile, and Carol reaches up with her hand, fingertips brushing against the strong line of her cheekbone, up along her temple, and finally carding through hair, pushing it out of the way. Fingers still locked in tresses, she draws Therese toward her, feels her follow, and kisses her without interruption.

_-_

The messy affair in the backseat of the car had taught them well, and she’s learned to invest in caches of bobby pins. She would leave their bedroom without one no sooner than she would leave the house without her wallet. A few lie scattered on Therese’s side of the vanity. More than one are currently on the sink ringing the faucet, threatening to fall down the drain and necessitate a plumber. When Carol vacuums she hears the _click_ of strays sucked up as she angles to get under the couch, and rolls her eyes hoping they don’t sound the death knell of the wheezy old thing. She’s got her own pins rolling around at the bottom of her purse, in the cup holder of the car, and hooked on a page of her book as a placeholder.

 

But in the heat of the moment they forget certain preparations. It hadn’t been a problem before – Therese had been able to tie it back, just barely, or it had been long enough to be swept out of her face and _stay_ swept – but now, it’s more obvious. The moment of passion, a kiss in the hallway turned into something more, is dying. She’s not even _close_ because it would seem that every few moments Therese has to stop.

 

Carol closes her eyes, reaches up and lays a hand over the bridge of her nose, resisting a groan as she feels the loss of Therese’s lips against her, feels the brush of Therese’s hand against her thigh as she reaches up to push her hair back behind her ears, before her head bows back down and she resumes.

 

But, soon enough, just as she tilts her hips at the sensation – _Stop. Reach. Repeat._ She’s never going to get anywhere at this rate.

 

“Therese,” she says finally. It comes out more hoarse than she had intended, and she clears her throat. From between her legs Therese goes still. Always alert. She feels her press a kiss to her thigh, murmuring against her skin.

 

“Yes?”

 

Carol rests her hands on her stomach, opens her eyes, and the hallway comes into focus around her. “Please get some pins off the dresser or a headband or _something_ , because this starting and stopping is driving me mad.” And Therese must be as frustrated as her with her own hair, because she obliges, gets up and heads for their bedroom with only a nod.

 

Carol sits up, the spontaneity and urgency of the moment gone, and smooths her dress back down her thighs. Sex on the floor is a young woman’s game, anyway, and she stands.

 

“It looks ridiculous all pinned back.” Therese appears in the doorway, pinning it back thoroughly regardless. It looks fine, adorable and even shorter pulled back from her face, but she frowns, brows furrowed, and Carol walks toward her. “I think I’m going to grow it out.”

 

As lovely as she looks, it’s a bit of a relief. “I’m sure you’ll look charming whatever you choose to do,” she says, and takes the hand Therese offers, lets her lead her into the bedroom.

_-_

 

The issue of custody is over and sealed, and it hurts like hell whenever she walks down the hallway and passes the empty room awaiting Rindy, almost sterile in its orderliness. Any extra visits are at Harge’s discretion per the ruling, and Carol wonders if the stipulation was put there only to torture her, a false hope for something that she knows will never happen. But barring public drunkenness or being jailed, she’s still got her one weekend a month, damn it, and makes the most of it with her daughter _and_ her sweetheart. As they walk through the park toward the lake, Carol squeezes Rindy’s hand lightly in hers, less to keep her close and more to realize that she is here, tangible, and for two whole days.

 

It’s almost like old times. She’s got on her red coat which keeps her plenty warm for a blustery May morning, and Therese, with even shorter hair than she had had the past winter, clings resolutely to hats – a black beret today – to guard against the wind. They’ve opted for a walk with winter over, but Rindy is starting to lag. Her tales about who did what in class and at recess have gone silent, her footsteps slowing and making Carol drop back with her, and she asks as they turn a corner, “Are we almost there?”

 

She’s getting too big to be carried anywhere far, but Carol picks her up in one swoop, hears Rindy laugh at the suddenness of it and feels her cling to her. It’s no longer far to the bridge, and she can manage that. Legs lock around her waist and there are arms around her neck, and Rindy’s head tilting against her own.

 

Rejuvenated, Rindy’s silent for only a moment before a small hand cups around her ear, and for no reason she whispers, “What color can I paint my room?”

 

“Any color you want, pumpkin,” she replies. If Rindy wanted to paint it blue and orange with yellow stripes Carol would say yes just to be able to paint it with her and make her happy, so she’s relieved when Rindy pipes up excitedly with a more mundane suggestion.

 

“Pink?”

 

If she picks a pale rose, it’ll go with the rest of the apartment, and Carol nods. Perfect. “We can do that next weekend you’re here, if you want.”

 

Thankfully they’ve reached the bridge, and she sets Rindy down at the edge of it, watching her bound toward the middle’s highest point. “No geese,” Therese observes, looking around before smiling at her and following Rindy. “I think we’re safe.”

 

“That’s what they want you to think,” Carol calls after her. She makes her way over to the two of them, leans against the stone railing, watching as Therese opens the bag of bread, hands Rindy a slice and takes out one for herself.

 

Luckily with no geese in sight they’re free to feed the ducks in peace. Rindy somehow gets Therese involved in another one of her school stories, and Therese dutifully nods and gasps, asks questions at all the right places as they absently tear off corners of the bread and throw bits and pieces to the ducks. Carol thinks that, as her mother’s daughter, it’s no surprise that Rindy’s taken to Therese so quickly. Who wouldn’t? By the time the bag of bread is gone and the ducks gathering under their spot on the bridge have realized that and begun to disperse, Rindy dodges her attempts to take her hand once more.

 

“Can Therese carry me?” Rindy asks, edging toward Therese and looking up at her with a pleading smile, and Carol sighs, glancing guiltily at Therese. She’s not sure how Therese even lifts those cameras, being as small as she is, let alone a child.

 

“Why don’t I carry you?” she says instead, but Therese shrugs as Rindy clings to her skirt.

 

“I don’t mind,” Therese replies gamely, and Rindy smiles even wider.

 

“Well, alright.” Carol resists a laugh, reaches into her bag as Therese picks up Rindy, coming up with her cigarette case and opening it. “Feel free to hand her back once she gets too heavy,” she warns Therese before sticking the cigarette between her lips as they all begin to walk to lunch. “That’s usually about four blocks, at her weight.”

 

She’s able to smoke in peace as she and Therese walk side by side, down the path, out of the park, and back onto the streets. They squeeze through a knot of people waiting to cross the street, and she falls behind Therese, letting her walk ahead.

 

Whatever their relationship looks like to anyone else, she hardly cares. Carol smiles and takes a drag on her cigarette. With Therese holding Rindy, conspiratorial whispering is lost to her, and she watches as Rindy points something out, as Therese smiles and replies.

 

In the middle of the night, sometimes, she worries herself awake – it can’t be real, can’t be happening, can’t be permanent. But fumbling in the dark she reaches out, and there is Therese. In the morning she sits at the table wrapped in a blanket and eating breakfast leisurely, up early enough to say goodbye to her as she leaves for work. After the day is done and she’s come home she slips off her heels and changes, pretenses they use with others falling away just as easily as they kiss. For such a slight thing Therese gives off an air of quiet immutability, that nothing could ever make her deviate from the peaceful routine they’ve developed. Carol reminds herself daily that Therese is not going anywhere, and is awed every time.

 

They make their way, slipping in and out of the shade and shadows of skyscrapers, and Carol pulls her coat tighter around herself as the wind kicks up. Ahead, perhaps feeling the same gust, Therese hikes Rindy higher on her hip, holds tight, and reaches up to slip her hat off and plunk it down on her head. It’s a shade too big and she can see the edge of it slips over Rindy’s eyes before she reaches up and pushes it back, mussing her bangs.

 

“You’ll catch a cold without that,” Carol warns Therese. It’s not exactly summer yet, and she can already imagine that once they reach the restaurant Therese's ears will be red from the wind. “You don’t even have a scarf.”

 

“I’m fine,” Therese says, stopping. Without the hat, she reaches up to brush hair out of her face with her free hand, strands sticking to her lipstick. People flow around them like water, oblivious. “But she is getting heavy.”

 

Finished, Carol drops the cigarette butt on the ground, extricates Rindy carefully from Therese’s arms and lets her rest on her hip, at least for a moment. She points at the hat, saying solemnly to Rindy, “Don’t lose that, you hear?” She’s had her way all afternoon and Carol loves spoiling her, but if it were to fall off and become lost she’d be very sorry to see it go. “That’s Therese’s.”

 

Rindy nods, and completely undermining her very serious discussion Therese reaches up, tugs it down over her eyes again and gets a peal of laughter from Rindy.

_-_

Carol wakes up to find she’s kicked the covers to the foot of the bed in the night. Unusual, for her. But then again, summer has not been kind. Blinking against the light streaming in through the window, she slowly sits up, already feeling sticky. She reaches down onto the floor, grabs her robe from where they’d left it the night before and slips it on before rising, walking over to the open window and drawing the curtains closed if only to keep out the light.

There is nowhere to go in the city that offers cooler temperatures. They’ve been to the museums and galleries, but there are only so many times she can observe the same works before there are new ones in rotation. The park offers trees, but everyone has the same idea and fighting for a miniscule spot of shade for a picnic, practically rubbing elbows with neighbors, leaves little privacy for the two of them to be themselves. They’ve had their share of ice cream and iced teas in the same crowded parlors as everyone else, and she’d like to do something new.

 

Carol wanders into the kitchen to find Therese at the table, already dressed. She takes a seat next to her, not across – a ridiculous move, but Therese looks at her, and she feels her heart jump as their knees touch. “Do you have plans?” she ask, motioning at her.

 

Therese reaches out, grabs a plate resting on the table to her left and hands it to her. “Other than getting you breakfast, no.” It’s a croissant from that little place five blocks over, and Carol eyes it eagerly. Therese has never been one to cook, which she hardly complains about. She takes the plate and picks up the pastry, taking a bite as Therese continues.

 

_Bless her. It’s the kind with chocolate inside._

 

Therese rolls her head, sighing. She fiddles with her hair less than when it was freshly bobbed, but now shaggy enough not to be a bob yet not long enough to pull back she’s encountered new problems. “It keeps sticking to my neck with this heat. I’m almost looking forward to when it’s just long enough to start going down the back of my shirt,” she adds dryly.

 

Carol swallows, swipes a finger over her lips and licks the chocolate off. “Well, there’s a very easy solution to that.” Therese arches an eyebrow, interest piqued, and Carol’s glad she’s never felt any inclination to grow her hair out. It sounds both tedious and aggravating.

 

“What?”

 

She smiles. “Wear something with a lower neckline.”

 

Therese purses her lips, looks down at her breakfast, but Carol can see the hint of a blush on her cheeks, and her words are confidant. “I think you’re just trying to get me in a compromised position.”

 

She pauses, thinks, and gets up, last bit of the croissant in hand as she pushes her chair back. “Guilty as charged. You know me too well.” And it is a good idea. She walks around the table, squeezes Therese’s shoulder before heading for the hallway. “I was thinking we could go to the beach.”

 

Therese barely has to think before nodding. “This afternoon?”

 

“Yes. There’s only one problem, though.” And that problem serves the triple purpose of spending the morning someplace cool, shopping, and having Therese touch her. “I haven’t been to the beach in ages, and I don’t know about you, but I haven’t got a swimsuit.” Not a lie. “You’ll help me pick one out, won’t you?” Carol lingers in the doorway, looking back over her shoulder. It’s gotten exactly the reaction she’d hoped – Therese sits in stunned silence, staring at her with shoulders slack and a bite of toast halfway to her mouth, and she smiles. “Shall we leave in an hour?”

 

 

 

She wasn’t lying about lacking a swimsuit, but _this_ – Carol would most definitely be lying if she said she weren’t doing it on purpose. A bit of that old Therese is back, and Carol can’t help but tease. She holds up a swimsuit, looks right and left before pressing it against herself, but they’re lost to the saleswoman, in a corner behind some racks, and she poses coyly. “What do you think of this one?”

 

Therese looks at her with pursed lips, crosses her arms, and finally says, “It’s nice.”

 

She thinks from Therese’s reaction that the blue one is the one she’ll go with, but grabs a few others haphazardly as she turns and makes her way to the dressing room. “What about you?” Carol asks over her shoulder, eyeing Therese’s arms, still empty of anything to try on.

 

“I’ll look in just a second,” Therese says, following behind her. Carol picks an empty dressing room, slips in, closes the door, and hears Therese settle just outside, leaning up against the wall. “In case you need help.”

 

She laughs, undressing. “How thoughtful of you.” It doesn’t take her long to slip into the swimsuit, and with it on she goes still, runs a hand over her waist and scrutinizes the reflection in the mirror. She’s not twenty anymore but that can’t be helped, and if last night is any indication Therese finds her attractive nonetheless.

 

She leaves the top strap untied, opens the door and pokes her head out, looks up and down the hall. But they’re the only ones trying things on at the moment and she holds out a hand – with a raised brow, Therese uncrosses her arms, pushes off the wall and walks toward her. “Help me do up the strap? I can’t decide if I like it all half-done like this.”

 

Therese shakes her head, amused, as she steps in and closes the door behind herself. Carol runs a hand through her hair, sweeping it out of the way, and stands facing the mirror as Therese settles behind her.

 

Therese’s hands are warm on her shoulders as she feels her gather the ties behind her neck, slowly making a bow. Once finished, she tugs at the ends, securing it, and then she feels Therese lean up against her back, hands grasp her hips, and the press of lips against the nape of her neck as she says, very quietly, “This blue one is lovely.”

 

Carol steadies her breathing, though the rush she feels can’t be helped. “So now it’s gone from ‘nice’ to ‘lovely’? I think I’ll take it.” She feels Therese kiss her again, quickly, her hands fall away from her hips as she turns and opens the door to walk out – there is only so long they’re willing to press the boundaries of friendly behavior. With a wall between them again, Carol raises her voice a shade as she undresses. “What color are you picking?”

 

A pause from Therese before she decides. “I’m going to go get that cream-colored one.”

 

“You’ll let me see it?” she asks, straightening her top and giving herself one last glance in the mirror before she exits the dressing room.

 

She holds the swimsuit in the crook of her arm, watches as Therese shakes her head and, with a look that tells Carol she’s taught her too well, lets her dangle. “No. I think I’ll keep it a surprise.”

 

 

 

By the time they gather their things, drive out, park, and plunk down on the warm sand, the afternoon is growing long. But no matter. It’s less hot than at midday, and as they sit under the umbrella Carol winks as she hands Therese the lotion. “A little help?”

 

Therese rolls her eyes but takes the bottle, uncapping it with her thumb and scooting closer, sharing the towel she’s laid out for herself. “You do all of this on purpose, don’t you?” she states, tipping the bottle and pouring a dollop out onto her palm. It’s not a question.

 

Carol thinks though, as Therese leans close, and helps her in a way that has less to do with sunscreen and more with discretely massaging her shoulders, that Therese is pretty good at that herself, too.

 

“Only for you, darling.”

-

 

 

 

Embarrassingly, she’s let Rindy’s room go unpainted for months. In the downtime she has, she spends it in more interesting ways with Therese, and when Rindy’s present, something as time-consuming and homey as painting is the last thing on her mind.

 

Tired of walking past it and seeing the bare walls, though, Carol finally bucks up and goes down to the hardware store one day, picks out a paint color and has the cashier carry the cans out to the car. Easy enough. Carrying them upstairs is more annoying – they’re heavy, clunky, and the thin metal handles bite into her palm. She has to set them down on the floor to unlock the front door, walks them over to Rindy’s room, and sets them down in the middle of the room.

 

After trying to get the can open with the key and nearly flipping the lid onto the floor and spattering paint all over the hardwood, she decides that the project is a bit much for a six-year-old and decides to paint it for Rindy, as a surprise. The furniture spends all week in its place dragged out into the hallway, but by the following weekend she’s enlisted Therese’s help and by her estimations such a simple project should go much more quickly.

 

Carol can’t think of a single thing she could possibly bear to get paint on and settles on working in pajama bottoms and a camisole, spreads a canvas over the floor to guard against drops and searches in the kitchen drawers for a roll of tape. Therese is dressed shockingly casual in jeans and a flannel shirt, but not unwelcome. She’s pinned her shaggy bangs to the side, out of her eyes, and her hair is pulled back in a ponytail. Carol lets her lead, since she’s apparently painted before.

 

Once they’ve taped up the moulding, Therese kneels near the open can, grabs it by the handle and with a hand on the bottom as well to steady it and pours it into the two trays that wait on the floor. Carol pops a fluffy brush onto the roller, hands it to Therese and repeats the motion with her own brush. “I’ve found that it’s best not to just dunk it in and start painting,” Therese explains. She dips the brush in the deeper end of the tray, lets the paint cover it before rolling it against the ridged part of the tray. “Roll it over the bumpy part there to get a bit of the paint off. Otherwise it’s going to drip and be too thick and look caked on.”

 

“I see.” Carol follows her motion. “I take it you learned all this the hard way?”

 

Therese makes a face. “Yes.” She reaches up with the roller, but before it can touch the wall, looks up toward the ceiling, sighs, and lowers it again. “Do you have a ladder?”

 

 “This is an apartment, not a farmhouse.” Meaning – _of course not_. Carol looks sideways at the silence, watches Therese bite her lip, looking around the bare room before stepping out into the hallway. “Should I go out and get one?” Therese laughs, probably at the image of her wrestling a ladder into her car, up the elevator, and into the apartment.

 

“No. I’ll get up on this dresser for the top parts. Thank god it’s not the master bedroom.”

 

They work on a wall at a time, Therese perched on top of the dresser to reach the ceiling, with a steadying hand from her. By the time they’re done they’ve missed lunch, but the small room looks more inviting.

 

Carol leaves the roller in the tray, stands up and puts hands on her hips. They take in their work, and she breathes out. “Do you think she’ll like it?” Pink is pink to a young girl, particularly one whose room at her father’s house, Rindy had told her with almost adult-like indignation, was only _white_.

 

Therese leans against her bare shoulder, warm, and looks up at her in amusement. “I don’t think she’ll want to leave.”

 

Carol imagines it’ll only look lovelier with all the furniture moved in, some pretty curtains, Rindy’s things scattered everywhere. “If you’d like to go down to the shop with me,” she offers, “I’ve got a desk there I’ve been wanting to take home. Shall we put it in that corner, over there?”

 

“Do you need help moving it?”

 

“I just wanted to show you around, but if you’re offering I won’t object,” Carol says, winking, and kneels down to pop the lid back on the paint. “It’s for this room, so that when she graduates from crayons to pens she won’t scratch up the kitchen table.”

 

Therese laughs softly. “And you learned that – ”

 

She purses her lips before replying. “The hard way, yes.”

 

Therese take the can from her and walks out the door, careful not to brush against the walls. “Alright. Let me get cleaned up.”

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

She’s making dinner when Therese comes home.

 

Carol hears her plunk her keys down on the hall table, comes in distractedly, flipping through the mail. “For you,” Therese says, holding out a letter as she walks in, and Carol takes it. With a glance at the return address she can see that it’s from Fred’s firm, and trying not to let the sauce boil over she reaches out to tuck it safely out of the way, under the jar of sugar at the end of the counter, to open later.

 

“Thank you.”

 

There is the tear and shuffle of Therese getting into their mail, of paper being smoothed out, envelopes being crumpled up and set aside. The kitchen is silent before Therese speaks up, amused. “We’ve been invited to a New Year’s party,” she announces.

 

Parties are few and far between. There was Therese’s birthday last month, of course, with her and Abby and all of Therese’s young and blithe friends. But work has kept her busy, and they spend most of their time together, or with Abby. Not the sort of crowd to throw the parties she has been used to attending. Carol looks over her shoulder to gauge Therese’s reaction. “You have?”

 

Therese puts it aside, places her elbows on the table and leans forward with a smile. “ _We_ have. Genevieve’s hosting it.”

 

Understanding washes over her. And with Rindy with her father she has nothing tying her to the apartment for the remainder of the holidays, other than the _dreadful_ inability to leave the bed once Therese gives her that look. “RSVP for us. Sounds like fun.”

 

 

 

As the date approaches, Carol spends a few moments each night standing in front of their closet, a finger pressed to her lips in thought. On Monday she avoids the question altogether. Tuesday she spends sorting through her wardrobe, nothing good enough. Wednesday she picks a green dress, and on Thursday changes her mind, settling on slacks and a blouse. On Friday, doubt creeps in, and she shelves that idea, wavering before deciding on a dress again.

 

Of course, Saturday night, twelve minutes before they're due to leave, she still cannot decide.

 

As Therese wanders into the bedroom, absently fixing a curl of her now shoulder-length hair, Carol asks, “What sort of party is this again?” Clearly it is a New Year's party, but she watches as Therese takes in her state of undress, an outfit held out in each hand, undecided, and understands.

 

“You look wonderful in anything,” Therese says, the sincerity in her words comforting. And to answer her question, she adds, “It's, well – _our_ sort of party,” she grins. “You can dress however you like.”

 

And so she chooses the blouse and slacks, just because, and quickly readies herself.

 

They catch a cab to Genevieve's apartment, Therese directing them. It doesn’t surprise her that it's in a decent area – though a friend of a friend initially, apart from Dannie she's heard about Genevieve the most from Therese and has come to understand that they're close. She's some actress, English, from money. Carol wonders, briefly, where all of these women were when she was younger. _Hiding in marriages like she did, probably._

 

It takes a moment for the door to open once they've knocked, and they they’ve never met before it would seem that Genevieve herself is the one to open the door.

 

She grabs Therese in a hug, welcoming her and urging her inside, and then turns to Carol. She looks her up and down quickly and approvingly, practically smirking. “So you’re the famous Carol,” she drawls. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

 

“All good things, I hope,” Carol jests as she moves to hug her as well with one arm, holding the bottle of champagne they’ve brought along in her free hand. She glances at Therese, who steadfastly avoids her gaze, moving away from her side to greet someone else.

 

It's an easy party to settle in to. There are, indeed, many people there that Carol suspects understand their relationship. Therese introduces her to everyone, and of course, Dannie, his own girl clinging to his arm. Therese works with a fascinating array of people, most of them young, a stark change from her own customers at the shop. Carol finds that the common thread between them all makes the years fall away, and despite knowing only a handful of people previously she hangs onto their stories with interest. And she tells her own, to their delight, of what might as well be alien experiences to them - of stuffy old country club parties and the shots she had done discretely with some of the other wives there, of Abby crashing Rindy's third birthday party dinner at Harge's mother's house on her invitation, and the old favorite of how she and Therese met, which anyone who knows Therese asks her to repeat, and which she abridges tactfully.

 

She only drifts away from socializing as Therese begins to talk shop with Dannie and she begins to tire from standing in heels so long. 

 

Carol lets the young man in the kitchen pour her a drink, takes it without asking what it is and settles on the settee in the living room. People mill around the small apartment, cozily crowded as she drinks. It does not surprise her that Genevieve appears, almost as if she'd been waiting for a moment alone with her, and takes a seat on the couch opposite her. Genevieve smiles at her before speaking.

 

“It was almost a shame to learn about you, you know.”

 

Carol raises an eyebrow in amusement. Not exactly a compliment from their hostess, but it's a greeting that Genevieve with her infectious smile manages to make sound disarming. “How so?”

 

“Oh, well,” Genevieve begins, and Carol can hear there's a story behind it. “Therese is very charming, but it was clear she was spoken for.” Genevieve sits back in the couch, relaxing. “Actually, I'm glad you're here,” she admits with a laugh. “I think my pride would have been stung a good deal more if she had turned me down for no reason.” She crosses her arms, and looks her up and down again. “Now that I see I can't complete, I feel like less of a fool.”

 

“Nonsense,” Carol says, automatically, because it is not a competition and Genevieve is lovely in her own way.

 

Therese's mention of a party this same time last year, of her offer to accompany her, and her return to the Oak Room – it falls into place with what Genevieve explains. It doesn't surprise her, that others would notice Therese, then or now. She herself had had to stop, compose herself, and keep herself from walking too quickly, too eagerly, once she had spotted Therese at the Ritz.

 

Genevieve gives her a grateful smile. “You know, you're very lucky.”

 

Carol nods, agreeing. “Very lucky, indeed.” She notices that Genevieve has nothing in her hand and asks with a wave, offering to get it for her. “Would you like a drink?”

 

Genevieve shakes her head, stands and explains. “Maria's got my drink, but thank you. I should get back to her, but don't be a stranger, alright?” she asks, and Carol nods.

 

Alone again amongst the revelers, Carol realizes she's gotten to the bottom of hers, and she considers getting up and losing her comfortable seat to get another drink when Therese reappears holding two flutes of bubbling champagne.

 

Therese takes a seat next to her, legs crossed primly, and hands her her glass, which Carol takes and only holds as Therese sips at her own. She nods in Genevieve's direction and asks, “How does she know?” Given the circumstances, she's only curious rather than worried. Through the crowd she catches a glimpse of Genevieve now siting perched in another woman’s lap – Maria? - an arm around her shoulders and talking animatedly to someone else.

 

Therese follows her gaze, takes in the sight, and smiles ruefully as she glances back at her. “She guessed in April,” she admits. “She was going to drop off something for me to take to Dannie and I mentioned my new address, and she asked how I afforded it and it all go out from there.” Therese shrugs helplessly. “It’s not exactly in the type of area where people have roommates, and besides I – well, I couldn't bring myself to lie. At least not to people who understand. I hope you don’t mind.”

 

“Of course not,” Carol says. At her age her excuses are odd any way they’re presented – unmarried per her bare ring finger, working with no child to be seen, and with no modern live-in beau in the picture. Even in the lies where she attempts normalcy the conclusion is that there’s something off with her, and she wonders why she even bothers. “I can hardly do it myself.”

 

 

How time has flown. Someone shouts something about midnight and a countdown, and the mood amongst them all shifts almost palpably. Carol spares a glance around them – but everyone else is concerned with their own affairs, counting down loudly, excitedly, and some quite sloppily.

 

She holds her flute carefully as they lean toward each other, brush lips to ring in the New Year. Although it’s tame and quick, immediately Carol registers the sound of Genevieve wolf-whistling, clearly having waited for the moment, and as Therese pulls away blushing Carol can see why Therese enjoys Genevieve’s company.

 

She holds up her glass, clinks it against Therese’s own.

 

“To another year.”

 

“And many more.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

_1954_

 

It’s horrible outside, and despite the niceness of the apartment the weather seems almost to penetrate inside as well. It takes forever for the water to warm up, and despite the steam from her shower the temperature in the bathroom remains just above lukewarm. Carol quickly dons her pajamas, slips under the covers and pulls them tight around her, feeling Therese shift closer instantly.

 

“Think it'll snow tomorrow?” she asks conversationally. Therese’s hands grasp hers, fingers curling over her own, already stiff and cold. Oh, to be young again.

 

“With my luck, yes,” Therese says thinly. She rubs at her fingers and, finding them slow to warm, drags her hand over her breast. “Heater's on the fritz in the editing department.”

 

Carol slips a thigh between Therese’s, and not denied, she shifts, urging Therese onto her back as she settles between her legs. Working from the top, she slowly unbuttons her shirt, Therese sighing impatiently by the time she undoes the last one. She pushes the fabric aside, lets her fingertips graze along her stomach as she makes her way back up, palms a breast and lets the pad of her thumb graze over her nipple, hard from the cold.

 

“Poor baby,” Carol breathes, teasing.

 

She does her best to behave. Truly, she does. But Therese whimpers underneath her, a hand gripping her arm, and Carol can’t help it. She dips her head to Therese’s neck and kisses her before biting gently. It’s not hard, but the motion always earns a sharp intake of breath from Therese, as it does now. She presses a kiss to where her teeth were a moment before, letting it grow sloppy before – what the hell; in for a penny, in for a pound – sucking and laving and biting again.

 

It’s sure to leave a mark, and a noticeable one, but kisses to her neck have always managed to drive Therese wild, no exception, who now gasps and arches up against her.

 

 

 

Carol has only to catch a glimpse of Therese the next morning before hurrying her routine along. Before leaving, though, she catches the crook of Therese’s arm, hands her one of her scarves and presses it into her palm. “You’ll want this. I’m sorry.”

 

Therese takes it, turns on her heels and heads to the bathroom. Carol hears the sharp intake of breath and decides to leave for work a good deal earlier than normal.

 

As she drives to the shop it starts to rain, a cold one that promises snow if the temperature drops further, which is good for her. Therese can work the scarf excuse without too much suspicion. “Good morning,” she says as she reaches the shop and walks in. Abby looks up at her greeting, lips pursed.

 

“You’re suspiciously early.”

 

“A boss complaining about an on-time employee,” Carol retorts as she discards her coat, puts it in back along with her keys and purse before coming out again. She stands next to Abby, leaning her hip against the counter. “Now that's one I've never heard before.”

 

Abby takes a sip of her coffee, rolling her eyes. “You're never early,” she repeats.

 

“Yes, and I may stay late, too,” Carol says quickly. “I think I've gotten myself in trouble. And speaking of trouble, how's Margaret?” She'd met the other woman many times as her and Abby's relationship had grown from a fling to something more stable, and found that they got along like a house on fire. She had fawned over her photos of Rindy, too, the newer ones that Therese had taken of the two of them eating ice cream, and it had endeared her instantly.

 

“Fine, just fine,” Abby says happily, putting her empty mug down and pushing it away. “We're trying to plan a vacation this year, since you can take over while I'm out for once.”

 

Carol nods. “Of course. Where are you thinking of going?”

 

Abby stares off, thinking, before speaking. “Probably to her beach house on the cape, in early summer. At least, I think that's what she said. I may not have been paying the closest attention.”

 

“That sounds lovely.” Now that Abby’s mentioned it, it’s funny how in the midst of winter she yearned for a hot, sunny day, and in summer could think about nothing but snow. Abby reaches for the planner, flips through it quickly and stops in July.

 

“Yes. She did plan that, and made me write it down, thank god.” Abby pushes the planner back at her, and Carol takes it, placing it away under the counter. “As long it's not while we're there, you're free to stop by and use it any time after the July fourth weekend.”

 

Carol is taken aback by the generous offer. “Does Margaret know?”

 

Abby gives her a proud look _._ “Of course. It was her idea.”

 

Of course it would. Margaret’s a dear. “Well, it would be rude to turn her down, wouldn't it?” she accepts with a smile, and Abby nods. It would be nice to get away, to have a change of scenery.

 

They turn together as the door opens, the first walk-in customer of the day wandering in. Luckily they’ve got no appointments until ten, and Abby walks toward the man, snapping him up, all-business.

 

“Good morning, sir! How may I assist you?”

 

 

 

-

 

 

She’s become used to the presence of two people occupying their home – a cup left out on the coffee table from the night before, borrowing a belt from Therese’s side of the closet and letting her take a hat in return, an open cigarette case left lying around now closed thoughtfully. In all honesty she hadn’t thought of it as simply _her_ apartment, Schrödinger-like, since the moment she had arrived at the Ritz to find Therese waiting for her.

 

After another day of work Carol comes home to find the plate she’s left in the sink from last night is still there, the shades are still closed from when she had drawn them the night before, the windows unopened when she had been too busy to leave them open this morning. No one’s been home since she’s left, and she leaves her keys on the table, turns the lights on and gets ready for Harge to drop by soon enough with Rindy for the weekend.

 

It’s still and quiet – she could put a record on, but it wouldn’t be the same. It’s coming up on a week since their first separation since Waterloo and she’s ready for Therese to come home. She’d gone off to Los Angeles for a week with several other people from the Times, a promising trip she hadn’t been able to say no to. And hadn’t wanted to, Carol could tell, intrigued by the idea of a cross-country trip, the subject matter it would provide for her photography, and the potential to ingratiate herself with her boss. Carol had urged her to go, telling her that they had time to spare to spend together once she got home. She hadn’t seen her off at the train station like she’s sure the others’ wives and husbands had, _too much_ in front of her colleagues, and had only kissed Therese goodbye in their doorway as she had left for work Monday morning.

 

Carol cooks restlessly as she waits for six o’clock, nearly jumping as the doorbell rings.

 

She opens the door to the usual happy chatter of Rindy and Harge’s scowl and harried appearance. Their communication has, for the most part, been through their attorneys. The way things had ended had left no room for reconciliation of any sort, on either of their ends. He never lingers, only lets go of Rindy’s hand and asks her to be back by seven on Sunday night, and she agrees, closes the door after he’s said his goodbyes to Rindy and turned to leave.

 

Carol kneels down to hug her, just a little too big to pick up now, and plants a kiss on her cheek and, then, blows a raspberry that Rindy laughs and wriggles in her arms at. “Mommy!”

 

“Happy birthday, my sweet pea,” she says, relenting and letting her go. At the mention of it, as if she’s forgotten, Rindy’s eyes light up excitedly. Her birthday is several weeks late now, but for a child a second celebration must more than make up for being absent on the real date. She stands up, lets Randy run ahead to the kitchen. “What do you want to do tomorrow?” After a full day of school it’s too late to do anything tonight. But the weekend is Rindy’s.

 

Rindy sits at the table, and Carol opens the icebox, takes out the milk and pours her a glass. “The zoo?” she asks hopefully, and she hands her the cup, turns back to the stove

 

“Whatever you’d like.” She’d always loved indulging Rindy and finds that with so much time spent apart that urge has only grown stronger. Carol wonders if that borders on spoiling her, and decides she doesn’t care. And the zoo gives her a good subject – she’ll give Therese the pleasure of presenting Rindy tomorrow with the little disposable camera of her own.

 

Dinner is spent messily eating spaghetti and hearing about all the birthday celebrations – Harge’s presents, her grandparents' dinner, little cards and presents from her friends. After a slice of cake from the little bakery down the street and cleaning up, they retire to the living room and, spreading everything out on the coffee table, break in the multicolor set of watercolor paints Harge had gotten her that she’d brought along.

 

“Where’s Therese?” Rindy asks, penciling in her drawing on the large sheet of thick, white paper she had brought along. Not just something to write notes on, but art paper, meant to hold up to the watercolors.

 

Carol adds a few more strokes to the wing of the sparrow she’s drawn – inspired by the adorable but annoying avian family that’s taken up residence in the tree outside their kitchen window. Looking over and seeing that Rindy is ready to paint, she dabs a bit of the watercolor paint on the white plate between them. She dips the paintbrush in the mug half-full of clean, clear water, and drags the tip through the paint, watching Rindy copy her. “Working.”

 

“Is she coming back soon?” Rindy asks, adding a splash of color to her own drawing.

 

“Of course.” She’s not certain exactly at what time, and so Carol answers vaguely, “You’ll see her tomorrow, and she’s got your present.”

 

After several more drawings which soon take up the coffee table and the kitchen table, a spilled cup of water that she hurries to soak up before it drips on the rug, and Rindy’s increasing yawns, Carol glances at the clock and realizes that, even for a weekend, they’ve stayed up far past her bedtime.

 

“Alright. Bed for you,” she urges, getting up, and Rindy protests only lightly, letting her walk her to her room.

 

After putting her to bed, Carol walks back out into the living room, the apartment silent again. She caps the tubes of paint, puts them away in their box, puts the nice paper back in the folder it came in and takes the plate and cups with muddy water in them to the kitchen to clean them off before anything can dry and stain. The clock on the kitchen wall ticks mutedly as she dries off the plate, puts it away in the cupboard. When had Therese said she’d return? Ten? Eleven? It’s already past ten and with everything put away she decides to call it a night and to stop her fruitless pacing. Wherever Therese is she must still be traveling without access to a telephone, because she hasn’t called.

 

Carol retreats to their room, undresses and puts on her pajamas, leaves the door ajar and gets in bed and turns off the lights.

 

It’s difficult to fall asleep, so the jolt of weight bouncing on the mattress, the tug of someone burrowing under blankets, hardly surprises her. “Now, who could that be,” she asks with a smile. She taps a finger against her chin theatrically. “Hm. One of the dust bunnies I saw under Rindy’s bed that she didn’t make last time she was here?”

 

A giggle from under the covers, and then in the semi-darkness she sees the blanket edge lift up, Rindy peek out. “No! Just me. Once I laid down, I couldn’t sleep.”

 

“I see,” she says understandingly. She reaches out, grabs her in a hug, dragging her closer as Rindy squeals. “Well, then you can stay, but you’ve got to try to sleep, alright?”

 

Rindy settles down quickly enough in her arms, her head tucked under her chin as her breathing evens out and she eventually falls asleep. In the silence Carol turns her head, buries her face in Rindy’s hair and breathes in deep. No matter how many times she does it, it will never be enough.

 

And Carol is surprised to realize that she, too, has fallen asleep when she suddenly hears keys being used, the front door opening and closing quietly at some indeterminable time in the middle of the night. She runs a hand over her eyes, brushing away sleep, and props herself up on an elbow, watches the light come on in the hallway as Therese makes her way quietly toward their bedroom.

 

The bedroom door is pushed open slowly, and Therese is nothing more than a dark shape, backlit, before she goes still. She sees perhaps that Carol’s not lying in the middle of the bed and she stops, a hand on the doorknob, taking a step back. When she speaks it’s barely above a whisper. “I’ll sleep on the - ”

 

“Don’t you dare,” Carol replies, low. “I’ve missed you.”

 

And so Therese slips into the room, drops her coat on the back of the chair and makes her way over in the dark by memory. Carol expects Therese to settle on the other side, _her_ side, near Rindy, and is pleasantly surprised as Therese slips in bed behind her, slides under the covers still clothed.

 

Arms curl around her waist carefully, Therese pressing her face to the back of her shoulder. When she speaks it’s with exhaustion, muffled against her, yet with the calmness of someone finally coming home.

 

“I’ve missed you, too.”

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

It feels like nothing and everything has changed as Carol takes the familiar roads back to New Jersey. She picks up Rindy from her father's from time to time though Harge prefers to drop her off, uncomfortable perhaps with her appearing at his new home in a new city, and Abby still lives out there, of course. But other than that, they have no reason to be heading west, and Therese seem to notice this. Before Therese can speak up, Carol admits, “I have a bit of an ulterior motive.”

 

Therese makes a noncommittal noise. “I was wondering why Abby invited us to lunch at ten in the morning.” They have no other businesses out in the country, and so she asks quite plainly, “What are we doing?”

 

Carol glances at her quickly, to gauge her reaction. “If you'd amenable, we'd like to teach you how to drive.”

 

At that, Therese turns in her seat to look at her and Carol keeps her eyes on the road. “Today?”

 

“Yes. And _then_ we’ll get lunch.”

 

Therese falls silent, shocked, and in a disbelieving voice continues, “In this car?”

 

Carol lets out a laugh. “No, luckily for you.” She'd learned on a car far bulkier than the one she currently owned, and her father had sworn it had caused him to go grey prematurely. She's not looking forward to the same happening to her. “Abby’ll put the top down on hers so it has less blind spots.”

 

That seems to calm Therese a bit. “I suppose it is something I should learn,” she admits slowly.

 

“Then we're in agreement!” Carol says, slowing to turn off the road and onto a street. Abby's house looms at the end, a familiar sight, and she reaches out, squeezing Therese’s knee reassuringly. “You'll be fine, don't worry.”

 

She pulls up and parks in the driveway, honks to let Abby know they've arrived, and gets out. After their hellos and hugs and some chatter, Abby gets – as always – straight down to business

 

They follow Abby over to her car, watch as she sits in the front seat and lowers the top, securing it in place before motioning them to get in. Carol sits in the back, Therese in the passenger seat. Abby drives them only to the street a few feet away, parks the car and gets out of her seat.

“Alright, Therese, change seats with me.”

 

Therese does as ordered, looking determined, but asks as she and Abby switch spots, “Why are _you_ teaching me?”

 

Abby settles comfortably into the passenger seat and gloats. “Because Carol drives like a madwoman. The only reason lead foot over there doesn't get tickets is because she bats her pretty little eyelashes at cops and they forget why they even pulled her over in the first place.”

 

She would defend herself but she’d done exactly that in Clifton and admitted it to Abby, and so doesn’t have a leg to stand on and only motions with a hand. “Are you going to teach her or spend all afternoon envying how I haven’t gotten a ticket in years?” Abby ignores her, turning her attention to Therese.

 

“Okay, Therese. There’s nothing to worry about. We’re on residential streets and there’s no one behind you, so take your time,” she assures her. Carol watches as Therese's hands clutch the steering wheel tightly, nodding as Abby speaks. “I’d rather not end up in a ditch because I’ve got to pick up Margaret later. Put your left foot on the clutch.”

 

“The what?” She hears the hint of panic in Therese’s voice, and to her credit Abby doesn’t make any snappy comments.

 

“The pedal on the floor. No, the one on the left,” she clarifies, pointing. Worriedly, Abby asks, “You know which one is the gas and which is the brake, right, or am I starting from square one here? Carol wasn’t clear on the specifics.”

 

“Which is which, again?”

 

Abby lets out a sharp laugh. “Right is gas, left is break. Use the same foot, you'll need your other one for the clutch. Make sure it’s in neutral, then you want to press down on that as you turn the key – no, just the clutch, on the left, nothing else – and once it’s running you can take your foot off it.”

 

Therese must press down on the correct pedal as she turns the key because the car roars to life, and they sit idling as Abby beams. They’re taking their time and Carol looks around, but true to Abby’s word, no one else is on the streets to rush them along. “Alright. Every time you switch gears you want to push down on the clutch.”

 

“How do I know when to switch gears?”

 

“You'll hear it. I never learned the mechanics behind it, but I know to switch when the engine starts to get pretty loud. You'll get to know when. Try it,” Abby suggests. “It's in neutral right now, so press on the clutch and put it into first, then let go slowly as you step on the gas.”

 

Therese’s first attempt to shift into first quickly ends with the car jerking forward slightly, then stalling, and her voice is small as she asks, “Is it too soon for lunch?”

 

“Yes. You let off the clutch too quickly,” Abby explains, helpful but firm. She reaches into her coat, draws out her cigarettes, a lighter, and starts to smoke, settling in for a long stay. “Try it again.”

 

Carol reaches forward over Abby’s shoulder, takes one too and gets a light, glad that Abby is teaching Therese and not her because it is going to be two very long and trying hours until lunch.

 

 

 

_-_

It promises to be a hot day, and as soon as Harge drops off Rindy they’re ready to go. Carol carries her own suitcase as well as Rindy’s, Therese ahead of them as they lock up the apartment, take the elevator down, and walk toward her car parked on the street.

 

The spaciousness of the car means everything fits in the trunk, and as they settle in Rindy has the backseat to herself, the picnic basket beside her. As she makes sure Margaret’s beach house key is on her ring, Carol looks back at Rindy before starting the car. “You've got it all?” she asks, and Rindy grins. “You’re sure?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Swimsuit? Hat? A sweater just in case?”

 

Rindy nods emphatically, and Carol turns back around, starting the car. “Alright,” she says stolidly. “We're not coming back for a whole week, so I hope no one forgot anything.” It’s all she gets with Rindy for summer and she intends to use it to the fullest.

 

It's not Abby's convertible, but they roll down the windows and it feels almost the same. In the morning sunlight Carol squints behind her sunglasses. With a scarf, her hair is largely safe from the wind. Therese, with her hair long now, has it up in a knot, pulled back. On stretches of the highway with little traffic and where conversation between them has fallen silent Carol looks to the right, sees Therese twisted in her seat to speak with Rindy, the ever-present camera sitting on her lap - and eyes flicking up, in the rear view mirror she catches glimpses of Rindy chattering, smiling, and bouncing in her seat.

 

They make good time and arrive before noon in a little beach town. Therese directs her down small streets, coordinating Margaret’s address with the map, and soon enough they stop in front of a lilac-colored, two-story home, squished in between others of the same size. Carol takes the parking space in front, pops the trunk open, and the three of them carry suitcases leisurely to the front door. Therese, fiddling with the keys now, opens it for them, lets Rindy run in in front of her.

 

“Stay close while we unpack, pumpkin,” she calls, closing the front door behind them all. Rindy’s already halfway up the stairs, her suitcase left at the bottom, and Rindy nods before Carol ventures into the kitchen to take stock. It’s followed by the clatter of eager steps on the rest of the stairs. Better for Rindy to explore there than outside where she can’t see her.

 

Carol opens the cupboards – nothing much except napkins, plastic forks but no spoons or knives, a can of Spam, and a few assorted packets of breakfast tea. The icebox is totally empty. She hadn’t expected Margaret to feed them, but had only been trying to avoid buying doubles of anything already stocked. Clearly it won’t be a problem.

 

She stands back, hands on her hips, and looks over at Therese walking into the kitchen. If she’s feeling peckish, then she knows Therese must be starving. “We’ve still got the sandwiches in the car,” she offers.

 

Therese shrugs, edging closer. “I can wait.”

 

“Well, then we can take those to the beach after we go shopping?” she thinks aloud. “Have ourselves a little picnic. What do you think?”

 

She’s caught off-guard by Therese’s hand low on the small of her back, urging her to turn into her arms. She obliges, drapes her arms over her shoulders and lets Therese kiss her slowly.

 

Want throbs in her as she feels the cool, hard edge of the countertop against her back as she’s pressed against it, the roll of Therese’s hips against hers. She breaks away, manages to remark embarrassingly breathless already, “Someone’s in a good mood. I take it you like the picnic suggestion?”

 

“Vacations with you tend to do that to me,” Therese says succinctly before kissing her again. With her hair up Carol lacks loose locks to run her fingers through, and so she reaches out, tugs on the fancy knot Therese has her hair up in gently, doesn’t let go, and gets a nip at her bottom lip in return.

 

“ _Mommy!_ ” Thankfully Rindy sounds as if she’s bellowing from the top of the stairs, but they both quickly put more space between their bodies, Therese stepping back as if she’s been burned though she doesn’t get far with Carol’s arms still around her. “I have my own room, come look!”

 

Carol reaches up and cups Therese’s jaw, kisses her in a way that promises more _later_ , and slips out of her grasp reluctantly.

 

After dutifully inspecting Rindy’s room, a small one at the end of the hall opposite the master, they head to the market, Rindy practically vibrating with anticipation, and manage to buy enough for dinner and breakfast the next day. They get it home and put away before she finally lets Rindy change into her swimsuit, and heads to the bedroom to put on her own.

 

The house’s back door leads down wooden steps and straight onto sand, and Carol can hardly blame Rindy for running ahead of them. They park themselves a little ways off from the water, laying down towels, the picnic basket, and their old umbrella that, with the three of them now, means staying in the shade is a tight squeeze.

 

Sitting, Carol pulls her novel out of her bag, adjusts her sunglasses and starts reading. Therese, in an over-sized hat, sits in the sand with Rindy. From the sound of it they’re aiming to build a sandcastle – she has no experience with building one herself and so lets them figure it out themselves.

 

Twenty-nine pages later and she hears the two of them break out in laughter. Carol peers over the edge of her book, takes in the sight of them with a pile of sand between them that shows no resemblance to any castle she’s seen before.

 

“Sculpture is not my forte,” Therese admits, catching sight of Carol watching them, and Rindy giggles.

 

“I think it looks grand.” She turns, reaching into her purse, and holds up Therese’s camera. “May I?”

 

“Of course, Carol.”

 

Rindy and Therese are closer than she could have hoped for. But to have Rindy lean against Therese’s side, to see the easy way Therese reacts, placing her arm around her shoulder, makes her throat go tight with emotion. “Say ‘cheese’,” she instructs before taking the picture, sure that everyone around them has heard her voice catch on the words.

 

Rindy goes about sticking seashell adornments on the castle, and Therese, defeated, gets up to come lie down on her back on the towel next to her, tilting her hat over her face to keep the sun off.

 

Carol turns a page, and with one hand holding her book, lets the other rest between the two of them, palm-down on the towel. It doesn’t take long for Therese to reach out, to grasp it and run her thumb slowly and soothingly over her own though she’s supposed to be napping.

 

 

 

 

 

_1955_

 

 

She opens the front door to the sound of the telephone ringing. They have the phone primarily so that she can call Abby – otherwise, there are few people who ever do. Carol leaves the front door open, walking quickly to the phone before whoever is on the other end can hang up.

 

“Yes?” she asks by way of greeting, and she hears Harge make a dissatisfied noise on the other end.

 

“Can you be here before six?”

 

She swallows thickly, asking, “Is everything alright?”

 

“Yes, everything’s fine.” He clears his throat, explaining. “I know I’m supposed to drop her off at eight but I just got signed up for a business trip, a potential big client. I just got the call. I’m trying to make a seven o’clock flight and you know how La Guardia is.”

 

Extra time with Rindy. She clutches the receiver, every fiber of her screaming _yes_ , but knows what she has to say. “I’d love to, but what about your mother?” It hurts, to genuflect to someone else. But the situation with Therese had brought out an ugly side of him. She hates to think of Rindy as a bargaining chip but he’s made her do so. If he thinks she’s going to incriminate herself again so easily by taking their daughter when it’s not her weekend, he’s mistaken.

 

“Carol, do me this favor,” he says, sounding annoyed, as if her paranoia is completely unfounded and only exists to make things more difficult for him. “I’ve got a notarized letter,” he assuages her. “I can give it to you when you get here."

 

She’s just gotten off work and all she wants to do is take off her heels, put on her pajamas, and relax with a rye, but she nods though he can’t see. “Alright. I’ll leave now.”

 

She does make it by six, just barely, to find Harge and Rindy waiting on the front steps of the house.

 

He barely says hello as she parks, gets out, and walks up to them – he walks around her, unlatches the trunk with an impudent familiarity, places Rindy’s suitcase in there. But she’s too busy to bristle at it, and she ushers Rindy into the front seat. The quicker they get home, the quicker they can do as they please.

 

As Carol closes the front door, he’s at her side, handing her the letter. “It’s a week-long trip,” he explains casually, and she stares at him. “It’s all explained in there.”

 

“Alright,” she says slowly once more, stunned, and then he’s off.

 

She gets in the front seat, sits for a moment and lets her good fortune sink in and Harge gun it for the airport before she turns the key and starts her own car. “Do I still have to go to school?” Rindy asks hopefully as they begin to make their way back to New York.

 

Carol chuckles. “Yes. I’ll drive you.” It’ll be a hell of a commute, but thank fully he'd moved closer to the city after they sold the house and then closer still over the years, and working with Abby does have its perks. She hears Rindy sigh.

 

“Darn.”

 

It takes just as long to get back as it did to leave, and Carol can tell they’re both tired and hungry by the time she wrestles the front door open, waves Rindy in and follows with her suitcase. Almost instantly, she hears before she sees Therese.

 

“Carol! I was so worried – ”

 

Therese pops out into the hallway, nearly runs into her and Rindy, and Carol only reaches up to push back an errant curl, cursing herself. “I’m sorry, darling, I didn’t even have time to leave a note,” she apologizes, and nods towards Rindy. “Look who’s come to visit for the week.”

 

“Hi, Therese!” Rindy says, and asks proudly, “Want to see my loose tooth?”

 

Therese pales a bit but smiles. “Hello, Rindy. And yes, but only after you’ve washed your hands.” That gets her going, and Rindy heads into the kitchen. There’s the sound of running water and Therese says, “I’ll start some pasta,” having caught onto Rindy’s fussy eating habits quickly.

 

Carol angles the suitcase away, so as not to bang Therese’s shins as she kisses the corner of her mouth. “You’re wonderful.”

 

She puts Rindy’s suitcase in the room, laying it on the neatly-made bed for Rindy to unpack later, and walks back into the kitchen, to find her daughter nowhere to be seen and Therese filling a pot with water. Carol takes a seat at the kitchen table, watching that once half-full Therese places the pot on the stove, starts the gas and sets it boiling. It’s suspiciously quiet, until tentatively, and then more confidently, they hear the discordant plinking of little fingers touching the piano unsupervised.

 

“Oh,” Therese says, looking back toward the living room. She pries at the top of a box of pasta, nails too short to get under the edge of it. “I forgot to put the fall board down.”

 

“Here.” Carol stands and takes the box from Therese – after having caught her breath, she can handle it. “I’ve got it.”

 

Carol watches her leave the kitchen, looks down to open the box of pasta. Therese has practiced more consistently over the years, and what she plays never fails to astound her. The baby grand had been something she’d inherited from her mother but never learned to play, a mere prop, pretty and sophisticated, for her living room until she had met Therese.

 

“Do you know how to play?” she hears Therese ask.

 

“No. Do you?”

 

“A little,” Therese says modestly. “Do you want to try? You can play this note,” she says, pressing down on a key, “and I’ll get the rest.”

 

Therese begins to play and Carol recognizes the tune, some sort of complicated etude she’d practiced on until she’d gotten it down pat. Therese slows the tempo though and as she pauses, Carol hears the earnest but unpolished twang of Rindy pressing down on her assigned key, probably at a signal from Therese. With the water boiling she tosses the pasta in. Her and Therese’s dinner is probably cold by now, but that’s her fault.

 

“How do you play so well?”

 

“I practice, for hours and hours.”

 

“ _Oh_.”

 

It sounds decidedly less interested, but Therese reels her back in expertly. “If you get good enough we can play a duet,” she offers, and Carol can hear Rindy’s gasp.

 

“Really?”

 

She’s privy to the impromptu tutorial that Therese gives Rindy, lingering in the kitchen and watching the pasta cook. While that boils away, she fixes plates for her and Therese, and sets the table. As soon as she’s drained the pasta and put it in a bowl for Rindy, she calls, “Dinner’s ready,” and the piano is abandoned.

 

Once Rindy’s scarfed down her pasta and wandered back to the piano after dinner to study the scale Therese had taught her, they sit together and, out of Rindy’s hearing, Therese apologizes. “I’m so sorry. Now she wants lessons.”

 

“Damn. I’ve got the piano so I’ll have to pay,” Carol realizes. She spears a carrot with her fork, thinking. “Actually, I’m almost certain Harge doesn’t have a piano, so she wouldn’t be able to practice over half the time. It wouldn’t work.” She’s loath to stifle any of Rindy’s interests, but it just wouldn’t make sense. Unless. She looks at Therese. “Unless you’d like to teach her, if you’ve got time.”

 

Therese would never ask to be paid, and she would never pay her. She is not an au pair or a tutor, and helping Rindy learn is not a job. She’s seen Rindy interact with her, and has come to the conclusion that her daughter sees Therese as a parental figure. One of liminal definition, yes – neither the visceral closeness of mommy nor the detached politeness of Aunt Therese – but some sort of parental figure none the less.

 

And so if she didn’t know Therese better she would think she was asking an actual question. Instead, Carol reads the raised brow, the hint of playfulness in her question. Under the table she feels Therese’s hand slip under the hem of her dress, move up between her thighs, and she feels herself respond.

 

“Do I get paid?”

 

“I’m sure we can come to an arrangement that suits us both.”

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Theirs is not a home given to drinking tea, and she knows Therese is feeling out of sorts when she finds her sitting curled on the couch, flipping through a magazine distractedly and drinking a cup with a frown on her face. What could it be? A guileless intern at work? A spilled tray of chemicals? She sits down next to her, touches her hip. “Turn a bit.”

 

“Why?” Therese asks, though she puts down her cup and does as she’s asked, still clutching the magazine. She sits with her back to her as much as she can.

 

Carol brushes her hair to the side, bares her neck and, in any other context, wouldn’t hesitate to press a kiss to her nape, to let a hand slide around oh-so-accidentally to her ribs, fingertips brushing her breast, and spend the rest of the night with Therese gasping her name. But with Therese’s quick grimace and a hand that flutters over her stomach she knows that that is a distraction that frustratingly neither of them are fit to enjoy at the moment.

 

She reaches up and uses a finger to part Therese’s hair, gathering three strands and grateful for the good several inches she has on her. Therese tilts her head back slowly with a deep breath, making her work even easier. “That feels good,” Therese says as she begins to braid her hair.

 

“I’m glad.”

 

Longer, it makes her appear even more youthful, and Carol wonders if she’s due for a change in hairstyle herself. Everyone seems to be growing it out nowadays.

 

The phone begins to ring just as she’s at the end of the braid, and already annoyed by the lack of hair ties, Carol ignores it. “If you don’t move, it’ll hold,” she says, letting the braid go carefully. She gets up, kisses her cheek impulsively, and walks away. “I’ll get a tie.”

 

As she’s walking to their room, she realizes that the phone has stopped ringing, but picks up once again. The insistence unsettles her. It can only be three people – Abby, Harge, or work – neither option good for a late night call without warning.

 

She detours to the hall to pick it up, answers with a quick and to the point greeting. “This is Carol.”

 

“Sorry to call so late but everyone else has gone home and I’ve just gotten off the phone with Ginger. You know, Nathan’s paralegal?”

 

“Yes, yes, of course.” Harge’s lawyer. She tilts her hip and rests her hand on it, sighing. “Fred, what is this about? It’s almost nine.”

 

She hears the shuffle of papers even on the other end of the line. He must be reading off something, because it takes a moment for him to sum up whatever he’s called about. “Well, they’d like to discuss the current custody arrangement.”

 

It takes a second for the words to register, and they’re followed by a wave of cold dread. “I’ve already got almost nothing as is,” she interjects, and Fred, rightly sensing her reaction and smartly knowing that every second is on her dollar, continues promptly.

 

“Joint custody.”

 

She snorts in disbelief. “Fred, what are you talking about?” Perhaps he’s gone mad staring at the same paperwork over and over, looking for something that’ll work in her favor and always coming up with nothing.

 

Despite the fact that he’s been nothing but perfunctory with her up until now, she almost senses satisfaction in his voice. “I would suggest not looking a gift horse in the mouth and I would also suggest you take it, as your counsel,” he advises her. “Now he alleges you're not doing your share of the child rearing. I’m sure you can hear how bad that sounds. I’ll be meeting with his people by Friday if you’d like, of course.”

 

Harge had moved for sole custody not just to spite her but to make her come under his heel and then, slighted by her leaving for good, to make her suffer, and Carol smiles faintly at the turn of events. She loves Rindy, but children are work, something easily overlooked with a wife at home to take care of them. And just because she’s no longer five doesn’t mean Rindy doesn’t have her difficult days, one that a father, however loving, might not understand. She knows his parents are getting on in years as well, making it harder than merely packing a bag and dropping her off for the weekend for breaks and time alone.

 

_Not as easy as it looks, is it, Harge?_

 

“I can’t do anything right by him, can I?” she laughs. “You’re damned right I’d like it. I’m just a little surprised, to be quite honest.” She has a sudden craving for a cigarette, for something to do, and paces as far as the telephone will let her, repeating, “More than a little surprised.”

 

At that he loses his glee, the professional again. “Usually, in cases like these it’s because the custodial parent is preparing to start another family. Obviously Nathan did not tell me this. It’s just a pattern I’ve come to prepare for.”

 

Carol almost laughs again, but this time cold and hard. Rindy, unlike her, has a place forever in Harge’s heart as his daughter. That assurance keeps her sane whenever she’s away at her father’s. She knows that he would never cast his own daughter aside, no matter if he were to remarry, and no matter what if any other children were to follow – but to need, or perhaps to _want_ , less time with her? It’s unfathomable.

 

Fred’s voice interrupts her thoughts. “When can you stop by?”

 

“First thing tomorrow,” she replies immediately.

 

He pencils her in at nine and she hangs up, feeling suddenly very tired.

 

Vaguely, she remembers her initial task, the hair tie, and turns around to find Therese hanging in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. Her braid is undone, hair drawn over a shoulder. She doesn’t look as if she’s been waiting there long enough to have overheard anything, and Carol breathes in deeply. “It was Fred.”

 

Therese only looks at her. “I didn’t know you still used him. Actively,” she amends, and Carol has to smile ruefully.

 

“Part of the settlement goes to his retainer. I thought it would be a fitting way to spend Harge’s blood money, and he’s damned good at family law,” she says, motioning toward her. There are many ways to keep Rindy from her, but more than a few to separate them, as well.

 

“What did he say?”

 

“There’s been interest in changing the custody arrangement to joint custody.” If he's earnest about it, it means driving Rindy to and from school, to her father's, means keeping in mind that schedule, for the next ten years. Regardless, she doesn't have to even think about that before knowing her own answer. But dashing from one impulse to the other fast enough to give herself emotional whiplash has been left behind years ago. And there are others to consider now, too. There is no more place for unilateral decisions.

 

She thought she’d only have to cross that god-awful bridge once, torn between two things she couldn’t live without and losing both, but Therese walks toward her, takes her hands and, of all things, smiles. “Carol, that’s wonderful.”

 

It’s not that she ever lacked faith in Therese, but that she had wondered when her luck would run out. Apparently, tonight is still not the night. “You wouldn’t mind?” she asks breathlessly.

 

Therese shakes her head, reaches up to cup her jaw and kiss her. “I love you, and Rindy, and what we have.” She pulls back enough to speak, still close, but Carol can’t bring herself to move, to hold her. “She makes you _you_ , and know that you don’t ever have to ask.” She must read the skepticism in her expression – what about _back then_ , Carol thinks, _remember when I_ – because Therese repeats, firmly, “You don’t have to ask.”

 

“You really are an angel,” is all she can say, and it’s only at that that Therese blushes. Carol puts an arm around her shoulder, motions toward the kitchen, and says, “And now I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.”

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

On weekends when they have nowhere to go, no one to see, no Rindy to pick up, no errands to run, Therese leaves her hair down. The hint of a wave is there, tendrils dark and sweeping against pale skin. It is a starkly different look from when they met, but suits her. She never looks disheveled, only divinely mussed after a night together, little of that time spent sleeping.

 

Therese straddles her, riding her fingers with abandon, eyes closed, gasping, close, and Carol can feel her own wetness between her thighs.

 

She doesn’t know how she got so lucky. Therese comes with a gasp and tilts forward, and Carol welcomes her into her arms, supporting her slight weight. The sun has been up for quite some time, but with the curtains drawn all that matters is that no one can see what they’re sharing. Time is of no importance, though she can feel the beginning of a dull ache in her stomach, hungry. _Later_.

 

Therese whimpers as she withdraws her hand from between her legs, rests her hands on her hips and holds her close.

 

“Breakfast?” Carol offers, feeling her stomach come close to growling, but Therese murmurs her dissent.

 

“Not yet.”

 

Carol feels teeth graze at the base of her throat in a rough kiss and says quickly, a hand reaching up to steady Therese’s shoulder, “No marks. I’m meeting Fred later today to sign some paperwork.” At that Therese stops, sits up and slides off of her. “Funny to think there’s a new Mrs. Hargess Aird.” The title, all that it had done for her and kept her from doing, significant enough to have subsumed her identity in more ways than one, will be gone as quickly and permanently as the stroke of pen on legal papers.

 

He’d asked her for it, with his upcoming marriage, and she hadn’t realized she’d never gotten around to it.

 

“Well, Miss Hartman,” Therese says, settling between her legs. “I for one can’t say I miss it.”

 

Given their position, Carol nearly laughs. “Do you think a maiden name is suitable for me to go by?” And Therese must see the irony, too.

 

“Perhaps not.”

 

She feels Therese warp an arm around her thigh, position her over her shoulder, and Carol says, boldly, “I quite like the sound of Belivet.”

 

At that Therese stops and looks up, enough to catch her eye. “Holding yourself out as or legally?”

 

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but if I’m changing it already why the hell not.” It’s not only Therese who’s blossomed since they’d met all those years ago. Against all odds she’s got everything she’s got now, and if Therese’s friends are any indication of things to come for them, of the shift in ideas and laws, then things can only get better. “Who’s going to stop me?”

 

A laugh from Therese, who is clearly in no hurry for breakfast.

 

“Certainly not me.”

 

 

 

 

Fred carefully lays out page after page on his desk, an array of documents that she’s glad she pays him to deal with. “I’ll never understand this need to change names,” he comments.

 

“Of course not. You’re a man.” Carol signs off on each line that he gestures to, sharp and quick. _Done, done, done_. “You didn’t grow up writing your name in your notebook, fancying yourself Mrs. So-and-so.” But she sobers, puts aside the saccharine, schoolgirl sentiment behind it. And he wouldn’t understand how she was, legally, at one time Mrs. Hargess Aird. After that, the change of a last name is simple in comparison. “You know it makes it real, Fred, in a way we can’t have otherwise.”

 

She puts down the pen, pushes the papers back to Fred, who takes them, shuffles them so the edge are straight as a die before placing them in a folder. He stands, and she follows. “I’ve done my best, Carol.”

 

“I know you have,” she agrees. “And thank you.”

 

He holds out his hand, and she shakes it. “I hope not to see you again for quite some time," he says, leading her out the door of his office, and she grins.

 

“Likewise, Fred.”

 

 

 

 

“Abby called,” Therese announces as Carol walks through the door, shuts the front door behind her. She hangs up her coat in the hall closet, walks into the living room to find her in the midst of flipping through their records. “She was wondering if you’d like to do dinner at eight.”

 

Something jazzy plays in the background, and Carol asks, “Would you, darling?”

 

“Well, yes,” Therese says after a moment, sounding surprised at her own excitement. “I do feel a bit like celebrating.”

 

As much as Carol enjoys their home together, she feels the same. There is something to be said for going out, for sitting next to Therese in public, together. To the untrained eye only very close friends, which suits her penchant for privacy. But to those who understand - _and that is all that matters, isn’t it, she thinks_ – so very, undeniably obvious.

 

“Then so would I,” Carol agrees cheerfully, heading toward their bedroom to prepare and knowing that Therese is never very far behind her.

 

 


End file.
